For Sure (67 page)

Bronze Age men perfected a solid, resistant fish hook, fashioned from materials other than fish or animal bones, pine needles or silex, but it was the Chinese who invented the fishing rod and line.

One day while Étienne and Chico were engaged in some urban archaeology down in the ditch at the foot of the railroad tracks:

“Me mudder does kung fu.”

Chico looked so impressed that Étienne added:

“'Twas a woman showed 'er 'ow. You needs mirrors.”

Chico figured that was very possible:

“One time Shawn brought me along to where Monkey was doin' some.”

. . .

“Monkey could break wooden boards.”

Étienne did not want to be outdone:

“Carmen as well.”

drift wood

afloat adrift

comes and goes halts and goes

yielding toward a destiny

of fire

“Because, like all fisherfolk, I also collect flies. I've thirty-six of them.”

The letter
m
is considered the maternal letter
par excellence
.

As he bent to remove the pie from the oven, Terry called out:

“Marianne? Come 'ere fer a minute, girl; yer dad wants to show you sometin'.”

Marianne came running.

“Luh 'ere, girl, at de beautiful apple pie yer dad made. No, no! Mustn't touch it, on account of it's too hot.”

To be sure his daughter understood, Terry blew on the pie as though to cool it off. Marianne did likewise.

“She's not a bad bit nice, eh? See, der's none o' de juice runnin' down de sides, de edges aren't burnt, der's two lovely wee holes in de middle. An' don't she smell good. Eh? 'Ere 'ave a whiff . . .”

Marianne imitated Terry, sniffing over the pie.

“An' dis evenin', when we eats 'er, 'twill be like eatin' love.”

“Ove?”

“Yah, dat's right, girl. Love.”

“Ove!

Oddities and chance often have a way of crossing paths, even coming together. Take the
m
, for example: 13th of 26 letters of the alphabet, and 10th consonant of 20. Furthermore, the
m
slices the pie right down the middle when it comes to the number of vowels preceeding and following it in the alphabet, exactly three and three.

“Ee did say it, but 'twas only in a manner of speakin'. On account of ee was in a rage, at dat moment.”

“The accused stated that he would probably end up killing his father, and you heard him say so, true or false?”

. . .

“TRUE or FALSE?”

“True.”

Codes, pin numbers and other passwords: bonheur; CCFMNSHA; diderot; 4540130074637694; foufou9; 44419; 9951924749203; 1755; 5258634000420357 04/05-04/08; pissepotte; billyboy2; 1212; sauerkraut; 4500600097457382 06/04-06/07; blueberry; 1809; 271407394; 847492; percents; Painsec; 381653963; 927458; prairie; Tombouctou.

Even if Élizabeth could be seen less often in the hallways of the lofts with Zed, she continued to take her role as Marianne's godmother seriously, and maintained her friendships with the residents of the lofts. For Marianne, therefore, nothing had changed. Nor did the introduction of Jean-Jacques into Élizabeth's life pose a problem.

“Would you like some cereal, Marianne?”

“Da-gon! Da-gon!”

“Dragon? Dragon cereal?”

Jean-Jacques was not yet fully informed as to the habits of Élizabeth's goddaughter, whose care he had been momentarily charged with
in extremis
. He searched in the cupboard for a cereal box with dragons on it, and found none. But, while he was searching, the defective toaster burned his toast, which triggered the fire alarm and a major brouhaha, which Marianne found highly amusing, and to which she contributed a few hollers of her own invention.

“Yes, it's very funny, eh, Marianne? Very, very funny . . .”

Jean-Jacques' tone was neither enthusiastic nor annoyed, but since he was climbing onto a chair to remove the alarm's battery at the same time as he spoke, Marianne assumed she was about to witness some kind of circus trick. She followed Jean-Jacques' action with great interest, but her pleasure soon turned sour when he tossed the burnt toast into the garbage.

“Marianne wants toast? No problem, we'll make some more! See? Look . . . we only have to put two more slices in . . . and pop!”

As he spoke, Jean-Jacques made two more slices of bread vanish into the slots of the toaster. This time he remained at his post next to the appliance, so as not to forget to raise the lever when the toast was ready.

Angèle Arsenault collects angels.

“Alexandre wanted to be a mermaid when he grew up.”

Carmen was washing the lettuce for supper.

“I'm only saying dat he probably already knew he was gay. Some people know it very early.”

Carmen picked up and began rinsing a red pepper:

“Would it bodder you if one of our children turned out to be gay?”

“No. You?”

“No. Me neither.”

Carmen cut the pepper in two and then in smaller pieces. Terry put the ball back into her court:

“An' wot if our kids were to have no kids o' der own, would dat be alright wid you as well?”

Carmen thought about it briefly.

“Yes, I think so. You?”

Terry had already considered it:

“I wouldn't mind 'avin' grandkids, to be der grandad an' all dat.”

“Yes, I'd like that as well.”

Carmen tossed the core of the pepper into the compost pail, grabbed a few small ready-to-eat carrots, and sliced them for the salad:

“In a way, 'twouldn't surprise me if Marianne was gay as well.”

Carmen's declaration surprised Terry:

“Awh, yah?”

“Not you? She's pretty independant, an' she's always on the go.”

“Are dose de criteria, den? Only a whole lot of children're just like dat.”

Carmen savoured the word
criteria
for a moment before continuing:

“That's true, only she, I don't know . . . It's as doh it would suit her.”

“Is dat so? Really, I doesn't see it.”

“An' the fact that she wanted Élizabeth to be her godmother . . .”

“Are you sayin' you tink Élizabeth is a lesbian?”

“Could be. No?”

Terry leaned over to check that the children were still watching television and not listening to the conversation. For once he was relieved to see them hypnotized by
The Simpsons
.

Table scraps (bury meat and fish leftovers, seafood shells, dairy products and rotten food properly to avoid attracting animals and producing foul odours). Peels (newspaper?), coffee grounds. Gardening waste. Leaves (no rhubarb leaves). Grass. Inedible apples (fallen from the old apple tree). Nettles (to speed up composting).

“Dis 'ere's de real story of de deer called Zoo from Magnetic Hill. Fer a lot o' years, de government'd been promisin' to widen de highway from Moncton to Frederiction, so dat finally dey really had to do it, an' from dat day forward, life fer de deer of New Brunswick was ferever changed. Why's dat? On account of de contractors decided to put up a fence eidder side o' de highway to stop de animals walkin' on de road an' causin' accidents. Well, animals all likes to be crossin' de road from time to time — who can blame dem, right? — an' you can bet dat a creature as big as a moose — a deer an' a bear's pretty big, too! — so, where was I, awh yah, a creature big as a moose dat runs out in front of a car, well 'tis more'n likely dat de folks in dat car are gonna get crushed, right? So, while dat road was gettin' built, instead o' doin' like 'is dad an' readin' de paper to find out wot's goin' on around de neighbourhood, Zoo deer just kept on eatin' de grass in de ditch by de road, on account of he liked a bit o' salt in 'is food, an' dey puts a whole lot o' salt along de roads in winter. Well, one night when ee's comin' out o' de bush to 'ave 'is supper by de road, Zoo seen dat ee was stuck in de wee strip of woods dat separates de road-fer-cars-goin'-one-way from de road-fer-cars-goin'-de-udder-way. On account o' de fences dey'd put up, Zoo couldn't be gettin' back into de real woods. Still, 'is dad had taught Zoo you gotta keep yer calm, so ee didn't get 'isself all into a panic. Ee just decided to walk along in de woods in de middle o' de highway, figurin' dat ee'd end up findin' a break in de fence ee could go back troo. So den dat Zoo walked, an' walked, an walked . . . on account of de fence was never endin', an' not only dat, but ee had to be walkin' in de night, so folks couldn't see 'im when he's crossin' bits of open field, on account of hunters an dem. All dis to say, it took 'im all of ten days an' nights to finally get to Moncton, where, sure, ee'd 'ave found a whole lot o' ways to escape if ee ‘adn't come right up face to face wid de police from de Magnetic Hill Zoo. An' dose fellows? Well, dey's only too proud to trow der net over 'im an' put 'im in a cage in de zoo . . .”

“I's not sleepin', Dad, you can say de moral.”

“Is der a moral to dis 'ere story? Fer sure der is a moral! Der's even two! Fer one, you's got to be learnin' 'ow to read wot's goin' on around ya in de world, an second, you's gotta know 'ow to jump a fence.”

Not to mention, 1 person in 150 is walking around with an undiagnosed aneurism. Dixit, I will come like a thief in the night. Finish this book and be quick about it.

“Me, I design cardboard boxes.”

“You design cardboard boxes?”

. . .

“An' where does ya do dat?”

“Right 'ere in Moncton. Well, in Dieppe, really.”

“Fer which company?”

“Pack-It Design.”

“An' dat's all you do?”

“Dat's it. 'Tis shockin' sophisticated dese days, neider glue nor staples nor nuttin'. All cuttin' and foldin'.”

“Cuttin' an' foldin'?”

“Dat's like copy-paste, only wid us it's copy-fold.”

“Awh.”

“Must be a terrible long while since you's buyin' sometin' dat came in a box, eh?”

Scribbled in the middle of a page of the small pale green notebook, the one with the spiral binding: the river('s) rising (b)road.

“Me, wot I'd like to know is if dey buries folks wid der gold fillings still in der mouths, or if dey pulls dem out an' keeps dem fer demselves.”

Dieppe: where the racetrack used to be, where the Marsh Canteen used to be, where the first stream used to be, where the Palm Lunch used to be, where the tavern used to be, where the Five and Ten used to be, where the grey school used to be, where the Nightingale used to be, where the skating rink used to be, where Sixte Gauvin's barn used to be, where the pharmacy used to be.

“Doesn't dat hurt?”

Carmen was plucking her eyebrows.

“You get used to it.”

Seeing that Carmen had several tweezers, Terry took one and pulled out a hair above his own eye.

“Ouch!”

Carmen knew that men are less tolerant to pain than women. Nevertheless:

“It's best to do a wee bit at a time. To trim them regularly. It's nicer lookin' and it hurts a whole lot less.”

Terry thought that made a lot of sense.

“They've just come out with wee laser machines that don't hurt at all.”

“Is dat right?”

Terry made a mental note of this novelty, as a good idea for a present for his gal who, having pencilled her eyebrows, was now brushing them first against the grain, and then with the grain.

“Like der! Why does you do it like dat?”

“On account of it spreads de colour out. So it looks more natural.”

“Natural!?”

Terry felt the world had been turned on its head.

Oddly, French dictionaries don't recognize the expression “put a feather in your cap.” This expression, which originates in English, is translated in French as “
mettre un fleuron à sa couronne
,” or “put a jewel in your crown.” And yet, the French are certainly no strangers to the practice of adding a plume to their headgear, even to the point of entirely covering their hats with feathers.

Terry realized he was witnessing a major makeup session when Carmen knelt down to search for some product in the little cabinet under the sink.

“I'm sure I bought some more.”

“Are you still alright wid yer Fridays, by de way?”

Carmen replied with her head completely in the cabinet.

“Absolutely. On account of?”

“Awh, nuttin'. Just askin'.”

“You?”

“Me too. Wednesdays couldn't be better.”

“That was a really swell idea you had, for us to do that.”

Terry was happy to hear it. He knew it was probably silly, but sometimes he was afraid of not being entirely worthy of Carmen.